The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1887-10-26
A MODEL MILLIONAIRE.

A MODEL MILLIONAIRE.
Unless one is wealthy there is no
good in being charming fellow.
Romance is the privilege of the rich,
not the profession of the unemployed.
The poor should be practical and
prosaic. 1t is better to have perma-
nent income than to be fascinating.
These are the great truths of modern
life which Hughie Erskine never real
lied. Poor Hughie! Intellectually, we
must admit he was not of much inn
portance. He never said either bril-
liant or ill-natured thing in his life.
But then he was wonderfully good
looking, with his crisp brown hair, his
clear-cut profile, and his gray eyes.
He was aspopular with the men as he
was with the women, and he had every
accomplishment except that of making
money. His father had bequeathed
him his cavalry sword and a History
of the Peninsular War in fifteen vol
umes. Hughie hung the first over his
looking-glass, put the second on
shelf between Rstf's Guide and Bailey's
Magazine, and lived on two hundred a
year that an old aunt allowed him.
He had tried everything. He had gone
on the stock-exchange for six months;
but what was butterfly to do among
bulls and bearsP He had been tea
merchant for little longer, but had
soon tired of Pekoe and Souchong.
Then he tried selling dry sherry. That
did not answer. Ultimately he be-
came nothing-a delightful, Intellectual
young man with perfect profile and
no money.
To make matters worse, he was in
love. The girl he loved was Laura
Merton, daughter of a retired colonel
who had lost his temper and his di-
gestion in India, and never found
either of them again. Laura adored
him, and he was ready to kiss
her shoestrings. They were the hand
soonest couple in London, and had not
penny-piece between them. The
colonel was very fond of Hughie, but
he would not hear of any engagement.
Come to me, my boy, when you
have got f10, 900 of your own, and we
will see about it. he used to say; and
Hughie looked very glum on those
days, and had to 90 to Laura for con-
ISOLATION.
One morning, as he was on his way to
Holland park, where the Mertons lived,
he dropped in to see great friend of
his, Alan Trevor. Trevor was paint
er. Indeed, few persons escape that
nowadays. But he was also an artist,
and artists are rather rare. Person
ally he was strange, rough fellow,
with a freckled face and red hair.
However, when he took up the brush
he was a real master, and his pictures
were eagerly sought after. He had
been very much attracted by Hughie,
at first, it must be acknowledged, en-
tirely on account of his good looks.
1.-The only people painter should
know" he used to say, ''are people
who are bete and beautiful; people
who are an artistic pleasure to look at
and an intellectual repose to talk to.
Dandies and da'lings rule the world!"
However, after he got to know Hughie
better, he liked him quite as much for
his bright, buoyant spirit and his gen.
erous, reckless nature, and had given
him the permanent eratree to his studio.
When Hughie came in he found
Trevor putting the finishing touches
to a wonderful life-size picture of
beggar man. The beggar himself was
standing on a raised platform in cor
ner of the studio. He was a wizened
old man, with face like wrinkled
parchment, and most piteous express
sion. Over his shoulder was flung
coarse brown cloak, all tears and tat
ters; his thick boots were patched and
cobbled, and with one hand he leaned
on a rough stick, while with the other
he held out his battered hat for aims.
What an amazing model!' whis-
pered Hughie, as he shook hands with
his friend.
''An amazing model" shouted Ire
vor at the top of his voice. II should
think so! Such beggars as he are not
to be met with every day, A tronUialte,
mon cher; living Velasquez! My
stars! what an etching Rembrandt
| would have made of him.
Poor old chap!" said Hughie! But
| suppose to you painters, his face,
is his fortune?"
Certainly" replied Trevor; ''you
| don't want a beggar to look happy do
you?"
How much does model get for sit
ting?" asked Hughie, as he found him
| self a comfortable seat on divan.
"a shilling an hour.
"And how much do you get for your
| picture, Alan?"
..Oh, for this get thousand"
"Pounds?"
.sGuineas. Painters, poets, and ply
sicians always get guineas."
| sWell, / think the model should
have percentage" said Hughie. laugh
ing; ''they work quite as hard as you
do"
Nonsense, nonsense! Why, look
at the trouble of laying on the paint
alone, and standing all day long at
ones easel. It's all very well, Hughie,
for you to talk, but / assure you that
there are moments when art approaches
the dignity of manual labor. But you
mustn't chatter; I'm very busy. Smoke
a cigarette. and keep quiet.
| After some time the servant came in,
and told Trevor that the frame-maker
wanted to speak to him.
Don't run away, Hughie," he said,
as he went out III be back in a mo-
ment.n
The old beggar-man took advantage
of Trevor's absence to rest for mo-
ment on a wooden bench that was be-
hind him. He looked SO forlorn and
wretched that Hughie could not help
pitying him, and he felt in his pocket
to see what money he had. All he
leould find was sovereign and some
icoppers Poor old fellow, he thought
to himself, s.he wants it more than
do, but it means no hansoms for q
fortnight" and he walked across the
studio and slipped the sovereign into
the beggar's hand
The old man started, and faint
Ismile fitted across his witherd lips
..Thank you, sir" he said in foreign
taccent-
Then Trevor arrived, and Hughie
Itook his leave. blushing little at
what he had done. He spent the day
with Laura, got y charming scolding
flor his extravagance, and had TO walk
home.
| That night he strolled into the
Palette club about II o'clock and found
Trevor sitting by himself in the smok-
ing-room drinking hook and seltzer.
well, Alan, did you get the picture
| finished all right" he said, as he LIT
his cigarette.